Harper’s running from her broken past. Haunted and tormented with the echo of the infamous Sculptor’s words and the scars his knife left behind.

Evan Hawthorne always gets what he wants. His latest craving is the gorgeous, but elusive artist, Harper. His sexual tastes are not for the faint of heart, but he instinctively knows that Harper is exactly who he’s been searching for. Her fate is sealed, but Evan’s not the only one intrigued and desperate to break Harper out of her shell… or just break her.

The salty citrus of his drink mixes with the spicy heat from mine as our tongues meet. Discovery becomes necessity as I drink him in and savor the feeling of being in his arms. His lips rule and mine willingly comply.

When he pulls back, it’s too soon, because I was just getting started, and I haven’t had nearly enough time tasting him. He pulls back before the door to the patio pushes open and our waiter brings the check.

Evan and I leave hand in hand, just like we arrived. But now I gave him permission. I said yes.

I’m thankful we had to walk instead of drive to the restaurant. It gives me more time to consider what was exchanged at dinner. The breeze cools my warm face.

A large tour group blocks the side of the street we’re on. I move off the curb to walk around them, but Evan tugs on my hand to stay by his side.

“What are we doing?” I whisper as the tour guide tells a haunting tale of the building the group stares up at. No one notices us watching them.

“I find it amusing how the stories and histories change every time I hear them,” he whispers.

The building is dark and has been empty forever. Strict protection goes with the preservation of the historical buildings. I’ve noticed what Evan refers to, but I’m sure growing up here you get sick of people distorting and stretching the truth. The tour guide’s top hat and cane only make him seem more charlatan than historian. He rambles on in a deep voice of the resident ghost and the many stories that he swears are true. He even reels his audience in with pictures.

Evan pulls me into the circle of his arms as he leans in and says, “Do you believe in the things that haunt the night, like this man here?”

I want to say yes. I want to spill my twisted true story. But I bite my tongue and shake my head.

“Yes, but my beliefs are based on fact and ghosts that do more than just scare you,” I stop myself before I say too much.

Evan’s grip is tight and I’m pulled into him even closer. The look in his eyes give away something I can’t detect, but it feels as if he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

We all have secrets.

Teasers provided by LW Barefoot

In a small town in Oklahoma, I was raised by an endless dreamer of a father. He spun fantastical stories of a heroine that slayed her own dragons, while jamming to the best music imaginable. I’ve been slaying dragons since and as much as I love fantasy, I believe magic is real and tangible in the very world we live in.

I, like many others before me, believe deeply in the destructive and healing powers of love. I hope to share stories of strong, yet broken characters that find their way in this life. I’ve had help finding mine, through love, loss, faith, music, creativity, writing, painting, positivity, embracing my past, and relishing the present moment.